


Anchor in the Waves

by MrsAlwaysWrite



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on Season 2 Episode 3, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Irish Language, Love Confessions, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slavery, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26951368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsAlwaysWrite/pseuds/MrsAlwaysWrite
Summary: Finan is a slave, forced to row ceaselessly. Betrayed by those he trusted. He believes this will be the end of his life, salt water caking him and an shackle on his ankle. Yet Fate has other plans. When he arrives in Islond for the winter, he meets her. A kindred spirit. Soon they both realize how they need the other. Can they save one another? Or will the wind and whips tear them apart?
Relationships: Finan (The Last Kingdom)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys! I’m so excited to share this. I’ve always been curious about Uhtred and Finan’s time as slaves and what they endured. So of course my mind decides to run with it. 
> 
> Note- in the beginning Finan knows Uhtred as Osbert so in the first two chapters, I use Osbert to identify him. Also- Islond=Iceland, Irland=Ireland
> 
> I have everything already written so as I finish editing it, I will post. There are four chapters total.
> 
> Warnings: There are mentions of beatings, starvation, inhumane conditions, rape, slavery. Nothing graphic though. If you can watch TLK, you’ll be fine. 
> 
> Irish translations are via google. Translations are in italics.

Days and nights blurred together, one morphing into the next. The only things he knew anymore was the constant taste of salt water, the shackle around his ankle and the unending pain in his body from rowing. 

Always rowing. 

Finan was unsure how long he had been a slave now. Was it a month? Maybe two? Even more? Time felt meaningless now. All he knew was when he had been sold, bound and blind-folded by those he once trusted, it had been late summer. Now the ship he found himself bound to, was making its final voyage to Islond. There it would reside until the harsh winter ended and the Nordsæ was safe once again. Or however safe the sea could be. 

When his feet finally touched dry land, tears welled in his eyes. Never before did he believe the feeling of solid ground could be so comforting. Although he did not have long to enjoy the sensation. 

"Move, slave!" The Dane called Hakka yelled, shoving him forward. 

Weak from lack of food and constant rowing, he stumbled against the slave in front of him, both barely able to right themselves before sprawling onto the hard ground. 

As he stood back up, he scanned around the small village quickly. It looked like the other slaves and himself were being marched towards the large, wooden barns. There were several other buildings about- a large hall, a few smaller cottages and some others that he was unable to guess their purpose from a glance. A few local men and women came out of the buildings, calling greetings to the Danes...to the slavers, while completely ignoring the weakened slaves being driven forward by beatings and sharp words. 

Next to, what he guessed was the main hall, stood a young woman in a thin, dirty dress and barefoot. Her dark brown hair hung in a braid over her shoulder. A wooden bucket held in her hands. For the briefest of moments their gazes met…

...then he tripped, just catching himself in time. 

"Keep moving, worthless dogs!" Hakka roughly shoved Finan this time, knocking him to the ground. "Get up, slave!"

"Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú!" He yelled back. It was futile to fight back right now, he knew that. Maybe once he had the strength and stamina to fight the slaver without worry, but that was before he had been beaten, starved and forced to row without reprieve. It was foolish to fight back. Despite that, he was sick of being cowed constantly. For a brief moment he wanted to remember who he used to be. _(May the Devil choke you!)_

That act of defiance earned him a single strike with the whip in punishment. His back burned, but he gritted his teeth and managed to push himself back on his feet to follow the other slaves. He refused to give that bastard the satisfaction of seeing him knocked down for long. 

He and his fellow slaves were separated into small groups and distributed between the two barns. Moving slowly, he huddled against the wall, arms wrapped around his torso to preserve what warmth he could. There were gaps between the wooden slats of the walls. With nothing else to do, Finan watched those moving around the small village. The slavers, he recognized, headed straight for the main hall as soon as all the slaves were locked up in the barns. Most likely to drink and celebrate a successful voyage. 

He hoped they choked on their ale. 

As Finan watched, he noticed her again. It seemed she had been walking through the village, the bucket no longer in hand. As the slavers neared her on their way to the main hall, she stopped, hands clasped in front of her and face pointed down in submission. It caused him to wonder if she was a slave also. 

There were no shackles on her, nothing to overtly demonstrate if she was a slave. Her dress was dirty and ragged, clearly something no one took pride in. Finan found himself eyeing her though. She was pretty, he could tell, even from afar. Although she appeared thin, as if meals were deemed optional for her. 

The one who owned the slave ship, Master Sverri, stopped in front of her while the others continued by. He said something to her, causing her to shake her head. With a nod, his hand brushed her braid over her shoulder in an almost affection gesture before following the others to the main hall. 

Once Master Sverri was out of sight, she shuddered and pulled her braid over her shoulder before continuing on her path. 

Finan watched her until she vanished from view then closed his eyes, hoping blessed sleep would find him soon. 

Or death. 

*****

Stupid. So stupid. If she got caught, a beating would surely follow. 

Yet her feet kept moving. 

Quietly, she crept along the line of buildings, staying in the shadows from the moon above. The Master and his wife retired to their room hours ago. The other Danes were either in their own homes or passed out drunk in the main hall. There should be no one outside. No one to witness her breaking a direct command. 

She hoped. 

The ship slaves had been separated into four groups, two groups to a barn. Last year the Master built specific pens to hold the slaves in, keeping only a maximum of five in a pen. In the prior years, the Master usually housed all the ship slaves together in one large pen. Though after the fire last year, he learned his lesson. 

The barn containing the pigs and two of the groups was the more pitiful of the two barns. The other barn held a few horses the Master prized. Silently, she crept along the outer edge, keeping eyes and ears alert to any sounds. A couple times she froze at the sudden noise of shuffling or coughing, scared it was one of the Master's men out walking. Thankfully it was not. 

Through the slats, she could see the shapes of the ship slaves inside one of the pens. Hopefully she found the right one. She thought she saw him being led here but it was only a glimpse she had been able to catch. If her attention was noticed lingering on him, questions would be asked by the Master's wife. 

"Dia dhuit? An bhfuil tú anseo?" She whispered, praying silently in her head this was not a mistake. _(Hello? Are you here?)_

There was no response besides another bout of coughing inside from the pen. It was impossible to see in the gloom on the barn, especially with the moon to her back. 

"Dia dhuit? Éireannach?" She tried again, telling herself if he did not respond, she must leave. She could not afford to get caught here. Her death surely would follow because of what she clutched in her hand. _(Hello? Irishman?)_

Then a hoarse voice whispered back. "Sea?" A form shuffled over to where she crouched at the far corner. _(Yes?)_

"Go tapa, tóg seo." She lowered her voice even more, barely above a whisper. She hoped the other ship slaves were sleeping or not paying attention. A sudden fear of being seen and caught threatened to suffocate her. Hurriedly, she slipped the hard biscuit through the gap in the slats into his hand. Soon as he caught it, she turned on her heel and dashed away, not waiting to hear his response. Her fear of being caught outweighed her need to hear gratitude. _(Quick, take this.)_

Why she felt the compulsive need to share part of her dinner with the stranger, she honestly was unsure. When he had sworn earlier that day, shock had rooted her feet to the spot she stood. It had been over a year since she had heard her mother language. The sound brought a small hint of warmth to her soul, to hear the language she so desperately missed. Even if it was a curse thrown at the Danes that would make her mother blush. Perhaps this was her small way of thanking him for a reminder that Irland was still out there. Even if she had been stolen from it. 

Now she had to return to her blanket on the floor and hope no one noticed her absence. 

*****

Not until several days later, did she manage to sneak out again. Winter's cold drew closer every day. Already a layer of frost coated the ground every morning. Snow would soon follow. 

At the far corner of the barn, the forest behind her and the moon above, she crouched once again, voice barely above a whisper. "Éireannach?" _(Irishman?)_

A form moved on the other side of the slats and his voice immediately whispered back, as if he had been waiting for her. "An Gaeilge thú?" _(You are Irish?)_

"Sea. Seo." She passed him a strip of dried meat this time. _(Yes. Here.)_

Before she could flee, he spoke again. "Cén chaoi a raibh a fhios agat gur Éireannach mé?" _(How did you know I am Irish?)_

"Mhallaigh tú an lá a tháinig tú." _(You cursed the day you arrived.)_

He softly chuckled at that, the sound pleasing to her. "Aye, ní mo nóiméad is fearr." _(Not my finest moment.)_

A smile graced her face, surprising her. It felt so long since anything made her want to smile. Part of her wanted to linger, to hear him speak their native tongue and perhaps smile once more. For a short time, to pretend she was not a slave without a future. She enjoyed the sound of his voice, the beloved Irish accent and the strange underlying charm in it and his words. Yet she needed to get back though. She could not afford to get caught. "Tá orm imeacht." _(I must go.)_

In the darkness, she crept back to the main hall. Surprising her was the small smile that remained on her lips as she moved in the shadows, due to the thought of him and his last statement. She found herself wanting to see him again. 

Stupid. So stupid. 

*****

He swore she was an angel to bring him hope. 

The cold seeped through the gaps in the slats, causing him to shiver all night. Most of the men stayed huddled together, to share what warmth they could, even if it was futile. Except he stayed in that far back corner of the small pen, where she would appear on the other side, cast in moonlight and with a gift for him. Only twice now she had come to him. The first time he was so shocked by her sudden appearance and the shoving food in his hand, his mind ignored her in order to devour the biscuit. He had not been fed properly in at least two days. This last time he tried to be more grateful and talk to her. Like a skittish deer sensing danger, she tore away sooner than he hoped. 

"An bhfuil tú ann?" She softly asked, her form barely visible in the dark. _(Are you there?)_

Slowly, he turned his head and body, in a vain attempt to be closer to her but also to block the others from seeing their exchange. It was selfish but the pains in one's belly can drown out the sounds of one's morals. 

"Aye."

This time another hard biscuit landed in his hand but he did not complain. Food was food. Before she could disappear, he whispered a question, hoping she would stay just a few more moments. "Cad is ainm duit?" _(What is your name?)_

She sharply inhaled, unmoving; but after a moment her dulcet voice came out in a rushed hush. "Aine."

"Aine." He repeated her name, tasting it on his tongue like a fine ale. "Is mise Finan." _(I am Finan.)_

"Finan, tá brón orm go bhfuil tú anseo." _(Finan, I am sorry you are here.)_

Her comment surprised him but it was the sadness in her voice that made him take note. As if she knew something he was not privy to. He had not heard her wander off yet so he ventured another question. "An sclábhaí tú anseo?" _(Are you a slave here?)_

He half expected her to run and never return, for how easily frightened she seemed. Then again, why should she waste her time with him? Coming out in the cold and darkness, risking herself to bring him food, it lacked sense. He watched her during the day, when she moved about the small village doing her chores, he assumed. There was not much else for him to do, except shiver and listen to his stomach complain. The other slaves barely spoke, all too focused on their own pain and cold. There was one Finan doubted would survive the winter. 

A soft sigh from the other side of the slats told him she remained. "Ba bhronntanas mé ón Máistir Sverri dá bhean chéile." _(I was a gift from Master Sverri to his wife.)_

"Tá brón orm." _(I am sorry.)_

"Tá orm imeacht." _(I must go.)_

"Fan!" Even to his own ears, he sounded desperate, it did not matter though. He wished there was a way to show her what her gifts of food and companionship meant to him. He could only guess she risked much to come to him like this. Yet he had nothing to offer, nothing to give besides his words, and even they he deemed meaningless yet still he gave them. "Go raibh maith agat, Aine." _(Wait! // Thank you, Aine.)_

"Slán." And with that, he could hear her nearly silent footsteps as she raced away from him. Back to the main hall, back to her own world which felt so far from his own. Even if it resided just across the village from him. _(Goodbye.)_

Quickly, he ate the biscuit, licking his fingers once it was gone to prolong the stale taste. After, he slipped his arms inside of his tunic and hugged them close to his body. With no clear understanding of time besides the rising and setting of the sun, he wondered when spring would come. First, he had to survive winter. With no blankets or warm clothing and lacking proper nutrition, he worried he might not see spring. Even if Aine continued to visit him and lift his spirits for a minute with her kindness. It might not be enough. 

The next day snow fell. 

*****

Months passed and the snow slowly began to melt. The sun once again brought warmth with it and the ground began to awaken from her deep slumber. 

Master Sverri now prepared to sail the seas once again.

He forced the ship slaves to go into the forest and fell trees for repairs needed on his ship. It was while the slaves were going to and from the forest that Aine was able to actually see Finan, more than just a voice and brief glimpses through the barn slats. His hair and beard unruly, his clothes stained and disgusting. Yet sometimes when their eyes met while in passing, there was a spark in them that reminded her...life still filled their lungs and coursed through their veins. In those quick looks, a silent message bonded them- no longer were they alone, they had a kindred spirit in one another. 

She stood in the main hall, stoking the large fire in the center. After, she needed to go to the river and get water. The soup for tonight's dinner needed to be started. Gunnhild, Sverri's wife, helped prepare it. She was a strict woman, and if Aine was late to bring the water, the slave usually was forced to forgo her own dinner in punishment for making others wait. 

"Girl, refill my cup." Master Sverri commanded, sitting at a long table. A piece of parchment in front of him, and a furrow between his brows as he stared at it. Occasionally, he would make marks on it or curse under breath. He had been sitting there for the past several minutes, slowly drinking his ale and staring at the parchment but had paid no mind to her as she completed chores. 

Immediately, she rose from the side of the fire to grab the pitcher of ale from the kitchen and bring it back with her. Without a word, she poured the liquid, extra careful to not spill on the parchment. Even if she was not sure what it was for, it looked important. A harsh punishment would surely follow if she damaged it in any way. 

It was when she was mid-pour that she felt his hand slip behind her to caress her waist and glide downward. 

She stiffened but continued pouring, unable to escape his wandering hand. Over the past weeks his touches had become more common and bold. Nothing to cause her to fear him, he had never hit or beat her unlike his wife. Yet she knew what those touches meant, how his gaze slid over her body like oil sometimes. It had not gone unnoticed by her or others that if Master Sverri's men tried to touch her, he harshly rebuked them. 

The door to the hall opened and in walked one of his men. 

"What?" Master Sverri growled; his hand remained on her arse. 

The man, Magnus, stepped closer. The dragon tattoo on his bald head always frightened her, but not as much as his leering gaze or hand quick to deliver slaps when the Master was not looking. "The ship slaves are returned for the day. After tomorrow we will have enough wood to repair the hull."

"Good." When Magnus did not leave, Master Sverri raised his eyebrows then waved his hand to indicate his man should speak. 

"The men grow bored. More slaves survived the winter than expected. Harald said we should let some fight. Make it a sacrifice for safe seas this year."

"Mmm." Master Sverri removed his hand from Aine, using it to rub the side of his face where his tattoo was and down through his beard. 

She took this as her cue to leave. Swiftly, she made her way back towards the kitchen, but not before leaving the jug of ale on the table so the Master would have no need for her to refill his cup. Just inside the door of the kitchen, she paused to listen to his answer. 

"After supper tonight. Tell the slaves that the winner will be able to eat the leftovers from our supper. That will make them fight harder. Once the fight is over, we will sacrifice the winner. We can spare two slaves. It will be easy to get more from Yunis. That should bring enough entertainment for now."

Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to alert the Master with how loud it was. All she could think of was Finan fighting in hopes of getting food then instead being killed, all because of others' boredom. 

She must warn him. 

Ignoring the others in the kitchen, she snatched her water bucket and dashed out. She hoped it only looked like she feared the wrath of Gunnhild and left to get water like every day. When in reality, she was terrified for her friend. 

"Finan." She hissed harshly, kneeling at the back corner where they always met. The forms of the men in the pen could be seen so she knew he had to be in there. Her fear for his life outweighed her rationale to be discreet. The other slaves would certainly question why she was here and why Finan was so familiar with her. Truthfully, she feared one of them would inform the Danes about her visits in hopes of a reward. Yet her secret visits continued. Stupid. So stupid. 

"Aine?" He whispered back, confusion evident. 

"Tá troid le bheith ann anocht i measc beirt de na sclábhaithe long. Déarfaidh siad go bhfaigheann an buaiteoir ithe. Ná iarr troid. Gheobhaidh an bheirt bás. Íobairtfear an buaiteoir. Le do thoil, Finan. Geall nach dtroidfidh tú." _(There is to be a fight tonight amongst two of the ship slaves. They will say the winner gets to eat. Do not ask to fight. Both will die. The winner will be sacrificed. Please, Finan. Promise you will not fight.)_

His hand reached through the small hole he had made under the slats, gripping hers tightly. "Geallaim, Aine." _(I promise, Aine.)_

"Go raibh maith agat. Tiocfaidh mé anocht." _(Thank you. I will come tonight._ )

With that she released his hand and ran towards the river. In one hand she held the handle for the empty bucket. The other one, the one Finan had held, she fisted against her chest, trying desperately to retain the warmth of his touch just a little longer. Even if it was only in her mind.

He had surprised her by knocking away a rotten part of one of the slats, creating a hole just big enough to slip his hand out of but small enough to not get noticed and need to be fixed. It had made passing the food through easier- what she thought the purpose of the hole was for. 

Yet that quickly became a secondary notion. 

Something shifted between them the first time he grabbed her hand, grasping it gently, as he peered at her as best as he could through the slats where he sat. She had been startled but not frightened. He never once gave her meaning to be frightened of him. If anything, he became a pillar of strength for her. His hand had been shaking slightly from the cold. Without a conscious thought, she cupped his hand between her own and rubbed them together, trying to warm it up even a little. He had teased that there was no need for a fire when a beautiful woman was there to keep him warm. 

She snorted and told him to shut his mouth, trying to deflect his teasing. The blush heating her cheeks told the real story of how his words affected her. 

Every time after, when she managed to sneak away and bring him food, they held one another's hand while they talked. It was only a few minutes, she feared staying longer and being caught, but she found herself looking forward to it….and missing his touch throughout the day. 

Spring was coming though. Soon Master Sverri would leave and the ship slaves with him. Many of those slaves never returned. 

Was it selfish of her to hope Finan survived? That she might see him once again, even with the torment he would undeniably endure. Was it selfish?

*****

She clutched his hand tightly between her own, as if that alone would save them. For a long time neither spoke. Words not enough. They held onto each other, a physical representation of the anchor they provided for one another these past months. 

Tomorrow he would board the ship and sail away. She doubted she would ever see him again. 

"Aine." He breathed out her name, an almost sweet caress in how he said it. "Tú ... tá tú láidir. Mairfidh tú seo." _(You...you are strong. You will survive this.)_

Tears slipped down her cheeks but she refused to let go of his hand to wipe them away. Instead she pressed her forehead against the slats. If anyone saw her, it would look like she was praying, hands before her, head bowed while on her knees. Yet none of her prayers had been answered for years, so she no longer uttered them. 

An almost indistinguishable pressure alerted her that he had pressed his forehead to hers. Something they had never done before. It felt strangely intimate, even though the slats separated them. If she opened her eyes, she could almost see their frosted breaths interweaving, blending into the air around them as one. 

"Tá mé ag dul a chailleann tú." She finally murmured, fear making her voice hitch. _(I am going to miss you.)_

"Agus mise tú." _(And I you.)_

She needed to walk away, the longer she stayed the more likely she was to get caught. Yet she could not pull herself away. Not now. Not on the eve of their lives being torn from one another. 

"Ná bíodh imní ort faoi mo chinniúint. Is é toil Dé anois é. Dírigh ort féin." _(Do not worry about my fate. Its God's will now. Focus on yourself.)_

"Is fear maith thú, Finan. Tá mé ... tá áthas orm aithne a chur ort." _(You are a good man, Finan. I am... I am glad to know you.)_

A sound between a chuckle and a sob passed his lips. He inhaled a harsh breath before whispering. "Is dóigh liom go bhfuil easpa ionchais ar fhir. B’fhéidir go gcaithfí é sin a leigheas." _(I feel your expectations of men are lacking. Might need to remedy that.)_

She gave a quiet laugh but said no more. 

They stayed that way for another few minutes, sharing what strength they had between them. For when the sun rose, both of them would no longer feel whole. The whips and the waves to tear them apart. 

"Tá rud éigin agam duit." She claimed one of her hands to pull some strips of fabric under her breast-band, where she had stuffed them earlier. She placed them in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it. "Tá sé do so lámha. Déan iad a fhilleadh timpeall do phalms. B’fhéidir go gcabhróidh sé beagáinín le…" She trailed off awkwardly, not wanting to think about or remind him of what was to come. _(I have something for you. // It's for your hands. Wrap them round your palms. It might help a little with…)_

"Go raibh maith agat, Aine, go fírinneach." _(Thank you, Aine, truly._ )

"Slán, Finan." _(Good bye, Finan.)_

_"Slán,_ a stòr _." (Good bye, my treasure)_

With one final squeeze of their hands, she rose and walked away. Finally, she wiped the tears from her face, only for them to be replaced by fresh ones. 

The night and future had never seemed so dark before.

*****

Finan leaned back against the side of the ship, watching the man who sat in front of him comfort his friend. He could see Osbert whispering something to Halig, trying to calm him down, to not draw further attention to himself. His wailing for land had drawn notice and would have been his cause for a whipping if Osbert had not covered him with his own body. 

There was something, a secret they kept close to their chests. Halig, though, his strength was failing, both strength of mind and body. He was lucky though, Osbert was always there to encourage him. 

Looking away from them, his thumbs gently rubbed against the cloth protecting the palms of his hands. If he closed his eyes, he could almost remember her in the moonlight, her hands holding his own, silent tears running down her cheeks. 

What she would never know was after she left, he had to stick his fist against his mouth to muffle his own sobs. 

He had sworn earlier that day to Osbert that he would kill the slaver Hakka for he was a right bastard that enjoyed inflicting torment. In his own mind, he also made a promise to himself. If he managed to get free, he would save her. Somehow, he would rescue her from her own captivity. 

He glanced over as Osbert leaned back against the side of the ship, eyes closed, bottom lip trembling. Silently, he reached over and placed a hand on Osbert's shoulder for a long second before retracting it. 

Osbert had spoken of escape often, under the cover of darkness and the stars above. Once they returned to Islond, there had to be a way he insisted. Finan was unsure but the raging fire that burned in Osbert's blue eyes was enough for him to quickly agree. If there was anyone bound to figure out a way, it was this man. 

"Back to work, slaves!" Hakka screamed, readying his whip for any man that did not move fast enough. "Pull! Pull!" 

Finan closed his eyes for a brief moment as he placed his hands back on the oar. This would not be his fate. 

This would not be his end.

Or hers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry its taken so long to get this chapter out...its been one of those weeks. Anyway, here it is! Yay!
> 
> Quick reminders: Osbert = Uhtred. Islond=Iceland. Irland=Ireland // all translations are via google and in italics. 
> 
> This chapter is emotional. Most of the warnings pertain to this chapter. Again, nothing is graphic but implied. Still heavy stuff though. I promise after this it gets better.

"What's it like? Islond?" Halig asked, huddled against Osbert. 

"If hell froze over...that is Islond." Finan replied from Osbert's other side, arms tucked inside of his tunic. 

Hakka had announced earlier that the trading season was done. Tomorrow they would start the voyage back to Islond. The slaves were to enjoy a few hours rest before back on the oars. They had been tossed stale loaves of bread to share, the thick taste of salt coating the bread from the sea spray. 

Finan, Osbert and Halig huddled together, not quite shivering but perpetually cold. The manacle around their ankles seemed to absorb the cold and inject it straight into their bodies. 

"We'll be on land though." 

Finan did not reply to Halig's comment. Yes, they would be on land, the oars no longer feeling like an unwanted extension of their person; but they would still be barely fed and forced to endure the brutal cold of winter without respite. 

Yet with the thought of their return to Islond she came to mind. 

Aine. 

Was she alive? Would she remember him? Would she care for him once again?

There were many times he found his mind wandering to her over the past several months, worried for her. In his darkest hours, he would conjure up her face, reveling in the brief flash of warmth it brought with it. Her brown hair in a braid over her shoulder, several strands loose around her face. Her slightly pointed chin and the dimple in it. Eyes the color of bronze. The small birthmark on her cheekbone. Those gentle, calloused hands that held his like a lifeline, both providing and seeking comfort. 

"A stòr." He whispered into the wind. Was it a call to let her know he was coming? A hope that she had not given up on him? A reminder of what had passed between them? He did not know. In his soul, it just felt right. _(My treasure.)_

*****

She almost dropped the blankets in her arms when she saw him. 

All the ship slaves looked awful, like they had been dragged across the sea floor then pulled ashore and forced to remember how to walk. They were almost indistinguishable with their long, matted hair and beards, bowed backs, threadbare clothes and general air of defeat. 

She stood to the side of the main hall, having run from gathering the blankets off the drying line to be able to watch their approach. 

To see if he returned. 

"Aine!" Master Sverri called, walking towards her. His thumbs were tucked into the band around his waist, his strut like a conquering hero returning home. Yet he was no hero. "Come to greet us?"

"Welcome home, Master." She answered demurely, dropping her gaze to his boots. It startled her that he called her by name. He had always called her ‘girl’ or ‘slave’ before. She tried not to think too hard about the implications of him remembering her name and using it. 

He tipped her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet his. His sharp eyes bore into her, seeking something in her face, before releasing her with a grunt as he walked past. She was unsure what that look meant...but it made her uncomfortable. 

As she looked once again at the slaves, one was staring at her. Soft, brown eyes met hers. She would know those eyes anywhere. 

Finan. 

Unconsciously, her eyes widened and tears threatened to fall. The shock of seeing him again rooted her to where she stood lest she collapse. He was alive...but appeared even more haggard and frail compared to last she saw him. He cradled one of his hands against his chest, staring at her until he was shoved by one of the Danes into the barn. She remained frozen, watching as all the ship slaves were marched to the barns and separated. 

The one thought repeated in her mind endlessly- he was alive. 

For how much longer though?

The returned Danes would celebrate voraciously tonight, happy to be home. Ale would flow freely and most would be passed out before the moon was at its zenith. She should be able to sneak away without notice. She had too. 

Quickly, she turned and headed back inside the main hall, back to her duties before the Master's wife could yell at her for being lazy. 

The night could not come soon enough. 

*****

"Finan?"

He jerked at his name, the sound just barely slipping through the slats of the barn. It had taken some manipulation to make sure that he ended up back in the same pen he had occupied prior. A small smile crossed his lips when he noticed the hole he had made was still there. "Aine?"

Sticking his hand through the opening, warmth immediately surrounded his hand as she clutched it with both of hers. 

“Conaíonn tú.” She murmured. _(You live.)_

“Mar a dhéanann tú.” _(As do you._ ) 

He pressed his forehead to the slats and felt her reciprocate the action. That simple touch, the simple connection brought tears to his eyes. It would never eclipse the beatings, starvation and despair but it helped lessen it. He had missed her. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Osbert watching him curiously, everyone else asleep by this point. He trusted Osbert not to say anything to their captors. 

They stayed that way for several minutes. Everything Finan could think of to say to her, to acknowledge or ask...once it hit his tongue died. So, he kept his lips closed and just breathed in her gentle presence, a balm to his dispirited soul. 

He remembered that last time he had thought she was beautiful. When he saw her after getting off the ship this time, it felt like something had changed. When he looked up and saw her standing by the main hall, a pile of blankets in her arms, he realized he had been wrong. She was _radiant_. 

“Ní féidir liom fanacht.” _(I cannot stay.)_

“Tuigim. Táim… tá áthas orm go bhfuil tú ceart go leor.” _(I understand. I am… I am glad you are alright.)_

“Seo.” She pushed something into his hand then released it. _(Here.)_

“Go raibh maith agat.” _(Thank you.)_

He heard her footsteps as she walked away quickly. Pulling his hand back, he noticed it was half a loaf of bread. Far more than she had ever given him before. Without a word, he tore it into three parts and tossed two of them to Osbert. The man caught them, having been watching him, and quietly nudged Halig to wake him. 

As they ate silently, Finan's thoughts were disturbed by Osbert's whisper. 

"Who is she?"

Finan thought about his answer, munching on the fresh bread. Something he had not tasted in almost two years. "Aine." He finally replied. "When I was here last...she saved me."

*****

Over the next couple of weeks, Aine tried to visit Finan every few days. She wished she could go every night, not just to see him with her own eyes and feel his hand in hers; at least then she knew he was getting food when she visited. After the third visit, he had mentioned about two others he had come to know. If it was his intention to mention others to receive more food, she did not mind. She tried to bring a little extra with her, sometimes forgoing her own lunch and dinner to have extra to bring. She was too scared to steal more from the kitchens and get caught. 

It was also during this time that Master Sverri's attentions to her became more obvious. 

*****

"The deep cold will start tonight." Gunnhild, the Master's wife, said flatly. She sat mending by the fire in the main hall, an interesting sight since her hands were the size of ham hocks. Everyone else had returned to their homes by this point, leaving only the Master, his wife and the house slaves. 

"Yes." Master Sverri listlessly said, staring at the flames with a mug of ale in hand. 

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Unless you want your slaves to freeze to death, they will need blankets. By the gods, you do this every year!"

"They are slaves."

"THEY ARE EXPENSIVE!" She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This was not a good year for us. Not enough trade. We need to keep them alive."

He swirled the ale in his mug for a long moment before nodding solely. "You are right."

"Aine," Gunnhild called loudly, "you and Alva take blankets to the ship slaves."

"Yes, Mistress." Aine stood up from further down the main hall, where she had been scrubbing the dried, sticky ale off the tables. It had been another rambunctious night of drinking for the Danes. After everyone left, the Mistress suddenly decided the sticky residue needed to be removed. "Would ya prefer me to finish my task first?"

"No, it'll be here when you return. Go."

Leaving everything behind, she headed to the kitchen to inform Alva, the middle-aged cook, their task. They gathered the spare blankets, kept separate for the ship slaves and headed out to the barns. Aine announced she would take the barn with the pigs. If Alva had any suspicions, it was not noticeable. On the contrary, she thanked Aine since she needed to return to the kitchen quickly to prepare the porridge for the morning and the barn with the horses was closer to the main hall. 

Without a word, Aine tossed half of the blankets in the first pen. The sounds of the men scurrying and arguing over the blankets followed her as she moved on. It was the second pen that she cared about more. 

There were five slaves in the second pen, including Finan. As she approached, the men watched her warily. It was when she tossed the couple blankets in, did they finally move. It was the one with piercing blue eyes that took charge and passed the blankets out, giving her a brief nod after as he huddled under one with a smaller man on one side and Finan on the other. 

"Thank ya." 

She directed a small smile at Finan, her eyes meeting his own. This was the first time they were face to face without slats separating them. She opened her mouth to say something but the scraping sound of the barn door opening stopped her. With a backward glance, she froze. 

Master Sverri closed the barn door behind him. In the darkness it was hard to decipher his features, but something about the way he was standing there peering at her made her skin crawl. 

Subconsciously, she stepped back. 

If he noticed her movement, he gave no indication as he slowly approached, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes never drifted away from her body, eyeing her hungrily. "Are the blankets distributed?" 

"Yes, Master."

"Good." He drew closer until he stood in front of her, hovering over her. Meanwhile he ignored the slaves in the pens as if they were furniture. "Was there another task that required you, Aine?"

It was not until hearing him say her name now, that Danish growl butchering the pronunciation, that she realized how much she desired hearing Finan say her name. When he said it, his Irish accent grew. When he said it, it sounded like home. 

"Just finishin' cleanin' the tables."

"Mmm...I have need of you first." It was the way he said it, his hand brushing her hair out of her face, the closeness of his body. She knew what was to come. Alva warned her only a few days ago what his attention would mean. 

"Come." He commanded, turning back towards the barn door. 

What else could she do? Bowing her head, she started to follow. Not before she snuck a glance at Finan. Even in the darkness, she could read the horror and rage on his face. He hastily shoved the blanket off him, starting to rise. Immediately she shook her head, hoping he could see it in the gloom. They were slaves. Their thoughts and feelings were nothing. Their bodies and pain were nothing. They were nothing. 

She thought she heard Finan quietly call out her name but it did not matter. She kept moving. 

After Master Sverri finished with her that night, she sat outside and gazed at the stars above, tears slipping down her cheeks undisturbed. Was it worth even wishing for freedom anymore? Was this all fate had planned for her?

*****

_"Aine…"_

“Níl, ná habair é.” She silenced him by interrupting, clutching his hand just a little tighter. He was unsure if he could hear a tremble in her voice or if it was just the cold. “I ... tá sé rud ar bith. Mhair tú i bhfad níos measa ná mise.” _(No, do not say it. // I...it is nothing. You have survived far worse than me.)_

“Ní comórtas é.” _(It is not a competition.)_

A small bark of laughter slipped out of her mouth, but it sounded harsh and cruel. Finan wished there was something, anything he could do to protect her. He would easily accept a beating or whipping to save her from whatever fate was giving her. Yet there was nothing he could do. He was imprisoned, too weak to fight in her stead, he doubted he had the strength to hold up a sword and swing it, let alone fight with it. 

He wanted to ask about the other night, when Master Sverri followed her to the barn. He wanted...no, needed to know if that bastard touched her. She must have anticipated his question and shut it down before he even placed the words on his tongue to say. That night he had sat awake the whole time. Fury, vengeance, fear and despair took turns beating at his mind. He wanted nothing more than to escape the pen and throttle Master Sverri before he could lay a hand on her. Save her from whatever cruelty played out in the Dane’s mind as he stood there in the gloom of the barn, leering at her like a predator and she an innocent lamb. As Finan started to rise, flaming anger fueling his movements, Osbert grabbed his arm and forced him to stay still. The rest of the night and the next two were torturous. Rage rose up within him whenever he saw Master Sverri walking around the village, enough to make his veins almost boil with his desire to slowly kill the Dane. What was worse though, was the rage at himself for his inability to do anything. 

Finan squeezed her hand, his breath visible from the cold. “Geallaim lá amháin saorfaidh mé thú.” _(I promise one day I will free you.)_

“Finan, le do thoil ... ná tabhair gealltanais mar sin le do thoil.” _(Finan, please do not... please do not make promises like that.)_

“Ná tabhair suas, a stór, ná déan! Éalóimid, agus tiocfaidh mé ar ais agus saorfaidh mé thú. Tugaim faoi deara é. An gcreideann tú mé? Abair amach é.” _(Do not give up, my treasure, do not! We will escape, and I will come back and free you. I swear it. Do you believe me? Say it.)_

“Creidim thú.” _(I believe you.)_ She barely whispered; voice tight with emotion.

He rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand, her hand still trembling, much like his own. Her face was turned down, staring at their hands as if ashamed to meet his eyes. He wished he could comfort her further somehow, wrap his arms around her and hide her away from the world. 

Suddenly the sound of the dogs barking made them both jump. 

"Téigh!" He said, worried someone would find her. It was truly a miracle she had been able to seek him out like she had been without anyone the wiser. _(Go!)_

Without a word, she dropped his hand and ran, having already given him the hard biscuits. 

Once he no longer heard her footsteps or any screams to signal she had been caught, he relaxed against the side of the barn, tucking the blanket closer around his person that he shared with Osbert and Halig. 

He turned his head to look at the man sitting next to him. His blue eyes met Finan's brown in the darkness of the barn. Keeping his voice low, he spoke, a determination coursing through his veins. "What is the plan ya mentioned earlier?"

Osbert smiled wickedly. 

*****

Finan could see the slavers gaining ground on them. The dogs barked loudly at catching sight of their prey just up ahead. The sand and rocks under his feet made footing treacherous. His legs wobbled beneath him like a newborn foal’s. Osbert already fell once. He was not even sure how Halig was still running, although his strength was obviously failing. 

But they had to keep going. Their freedom laid before them just up ahead. 

A bastard boat. 

He grabbed the end, pulling with what little strength he had left to get it into the water. The weight threatened to be too much for his weakened body...but he kept pulling. This was their one chance. There would not be another. They must make it.

Then Halig collapsed on the rocky shore. Osbert tried to drag him along, crying how he would not leave him behind, but both barely moved. 

It was then, before the Danes even seized them, Finan knew they failed. 

The small waves slammed against the back of his legs, spraying water across his body. For a second, he wondered if it would be better for him to run into the sea and not turn back. His body was bound to be cast into its depths anyway, either by his choice or the slavers tossing his corpse overboard when his body finally gave out. 

He looked over at Osbert, meeting his distraught gaze. A thousand words passed unspoken between them. At that moment, he knew abandoning his friend was not an option. 

The Danes returned the three of them, bound and chained, back to the village. Seven others waited, having been captured already. They sat, all bound together in the middle of the village. All day and night they remained, exposed to the elements and the occasional beating from the slavers. During this time they went without food or water as the Danes sought out the other escaped slaves. 

By the end of the next day, all but two slaves were found. 

Master Sverri glared at them from the front steps of the main hall, arms crossed over his chest. "We leave in one week!" He announced, then looked to his men, standing around the slaves. "Whip them...but not that one." He pointed a stubby finger at Halig, the pain from his wounds evident on the slave’s ashen face. "He watches for now. His punishment will come later." 

That night, Finan finally asked the question that had been brewing in his mind like a bad storm. "Who are ya really?" He demanded, his voice low so the others would not overhear, even if they appeared to be asleep. 

More than once he overheard Halig call Osbert “lord” and how Osbert made reference to their fighting together. There was an authority that Osbert bore on his shoulders, invisible but when he spoke, it came with the sound of one used to orders listened to. 

Osbert sighed, glancing around the pen they were back in. "No one."

"I know that's a filthy lie."

"It's a long story."

"I'm no goin' anywhere." Finan shrugged then winced as the torn muscles on his back from the whipping stretched. 

He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment before groaning and turning to face Finan completely. Even in the gloom of the barn, his blue eyes shone with passion. His voice changed from a quiet resignation to one of determination. "My name is Uhtred son of Uhtred, Lord of Bebbanburg..."

*****

In three days, the ship would set sail. Away from Islond. Away from her. Away into the unknown future and turbulent seas. Aine visited Finan two days before, giving what food she could to him. Normally, she tried not to visit him so soon for fear of being caught. Now though, she wanted to give him what nourishment she could before he was gone. She also brought more cloths for him to wrap around his palms, along with some extra for the others. 

He firmly gripped her hand. She was unsure if it was his hand or hers that trembled. Tears formed but she restrained them through sheer will. For some reason, this time, this goodbye felt final. Neither spoke it but both acknowledged it. She should have walked away some time ago, yet her legs refused to move, his hand clasped between hers just as tightly. 

“Fan láidir, Aine.” _(Stay strong, Aine.)_

All she could only nod. Her soul was being chipped away little by little and now with Finan's upcoming departure, she doubted she would survive. 

Especially if Master Sverri came back and Finan did not. 

There were so many things she wanted to tell him but never did. Due to her own cowardness or time constraint, it mattered little now. It was still left unspoken. There was a bond between them, something she would always be grateful for. He was her strength when she felt unable to rise up again, her joy when he teased her and made her smile as something she never did otherwise, he was her sanctuary where she could hide away from the world. How could she tell him all this though? How could she convey her deep need for him to steady her as the rock he was in her life? 

“Aine? Cad é sin?” _(Aine? What is it?)_

Her fluctuating emotions must have shown on her face enough for him to see it in the moonlight. She sighed, leaning over to press a kiss to the back of his hand. Something they had never done. His sharp inhale of breath worried her for a brief moment. Then he leaned his forehead against the slats, tugging her hand gently until she reciprocated the action. 

“Tá rud éigin le rá agam…” He breathed out. _(There is something I need to say…)_

Oh, what she would give for these slats to be gone, for them to be free, to embrace him uninhibited like she wanted to. She squeezed his hand to let him know she was listening. Slowly he exhaled, as if that would help align the words on his tongue. The thought made her smile softly. 

"Hey! You!" 

Aine looked over and saw a figure standing still, having just come around the side of the barn. With a torch in hand, he was unable to distinguish her in the darkness. But she could see who it was. Terror flooded her veins with a vengeance. Her worst nightmare came to pass. 

“RITH!” _(RUN!)_

Aine obeyed Finan's order without a second thought, darting away, hoping to lose her pursuer amidst the buildings as she weaved around them. Hard footfalls from behind crept closer and closer. She put everything she had into getting away and hiding. The figure could not have seen her face. He would not have known what she was doing. She just had to find somewhere to hide and wait him out. She just had to make it there. 

Something slammed into her the back, making her stumble and lose her footing. Ungraciously, she fell face first.

She gasped; the impact having chased the air from her lungs. Tears welled in her eyes. Her hands dug into the firm earth beneath her. No…. no... no... please not this. 

"What do we have here?" A rough hand flipped her over, forcing her to stare into the face of Hakka. "What were you doing, whore?"

Tears streamed down her face. There was nothing she could do now, nowhere to hide. This was it. 

"Let's go ask Master Sverri, mmm?" He grabbed a fistful of her hair and started dragging her towards the main hall. 

Minutes later she found herself on her knees before the Master, who had been roused from sleep. His tunic and leggings were rumpled from the bed. Only socks clad his feet, not even sparing the time to put his boots on with Hakka's yelling. 

"What were you doing, Aine?" The Master asked softly, an almost begging unbelief in his tone. As if he could not fathom she would disobey him. 

Her eyes remained on the floor, hands clasped in her lap. It was no use answering. She suddenly felt exhausted, so much so to not even try and create an excuse for her actions. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide from everything until her body rejoined the ground. She was so tired. 

"Look at me." He cupped her chin gently, forcing her eyes to his. 

Unable to stop herself, she flinched. Though he never beat her, she loathed his touch. Every time his fingers grazed her skin or hair, every time he had "need" of her, every time his eyes tracked her across the room...she hated everything about him. 

"There is a small opening, broken slat towards the back of the pig barn where the slaves stay. She was kneeling in front of there." Hakka explained, hand on the axe head strapped to his side. "It was a good size to pass something through."

Master Sverri stared at her, hand still cupping her chin. “Were you giving the slaves something?"

She bit her bottom lip, tasting her own blood in her mouth. 

"ANSWER ME!!" He suddenly roared in her face, his hand on her face now gripped it painfully. 

Then the voice of Gunnhild came from the side of the room, wrapped in a cloak and hair messy from being roused unceremoniously. "Alva informed me she has noticed Aine does not always eat her meals but saves them, stuffing the food into a pouch or wrapping and saving it."

"Have you been feeding the slaves?" Master Sverri asked. He stared at her with wide, unbelieving eyes. When she did not answer, that surprise turned to rage. He backhanded her, sending her sprawling to the ground. More blood filled her mouth but she remained silent. He rounded on Hakka. "Take her to the pit."

"What will you do with her?" Gunnhild stared down her nose at the slave girl that had been a gift. "I do not want her anymore."

"I will take care of her." Her husband stated, fists clenched by his sides. 

Hakka grabbed one of her arms and dragged her out of the room. The angle he pulled on, she feared he would dislocate or break her arm. She tugged, trying to loosen or change his grip on her. A whimper escaped her as he yanked purposefully with a dark chuckle. 

It was when she could see where he was taking her that she began to fight back, albeit weakly. She kicked and swung at him. Anything to stop their advancement. Anything to not be put in there. 

He laughed, easily manhandling her. "You'll beg for death soon enough." He whispered into her ear as he immobilized her against his body. "Sverri will not forgive this, nor show mercy. Maybe he will finally let us all take our turn with you."

That thought terrified her. She whipped her head back, feeling it slam against his face with a crack. 

"Stupid whore!" He yelled, throwing her to the ground. Before she could move to escape, he stood over her, blood dripping from his nose. A snarl on his face, he pulled his arm back and punched the side of her head. 

Darkness surrounded her. 

*****

The shackle on his ankle burned. The hard bench under his arse and the high wall of the slave ship made him feel like he was looking out of his own grave. The smell of the ocean nauseated him already. 

The Danes were securing the last of the slaves to their posts on the ship and bringing the remaining supplies aboard. 

Fresh pain radiated across his back when he moved his shoulders. However foolhardy it was, he fought back against the Danes when they dragged the slaves towards the ship. A strong rod across his back repeatedly forced his submission. 

Now he sat here waiting…waiting to row...waiting for his probable death. 

Even sitting with his back facing him, Finan could see Uhtred's resolve slowly beginning to slip away after their failed escape attempt. Uhtred tried his best to hide it though, especially in front of Halig. The smaller man had been in visible pain since their escape attempt, his arrow wounds untended. The Danes had not seen fit to provide any medical attention, just threw him in the pen with the others. 

A disturbance at the front of the ship caught Finan's attention. Walking up the gangplank was Master Sverri, his hand firmly grasping a handful of Aine's hair and forcing her to walk before him. 

A punch to the gut, a whipping, being tossed overboard...anything would have been less expected than this. 

Finan had not seen her for three days, not since she had last given him food then run off when someone noticed her. What worried him the most, he had not even seen her around the village doing her daily chores. During the following days, his mind conjured more and more horrific scenarios of what happened to her. He knew whatever it was, he was responsible. Without him, she would have been safe back in the main hall, in her bed, not outside the barn trying to sneak him food. It was his fault. He should have told her to stay away, to not worry about him. 

The prospect of food and a gentle touch had been too strong, his weakened mind and body unable to resist. 

It was his fault. 

Now seeing her, his heart plummeted in his chest. She looked far worse than any other time he had seen her. Her dress was torn and dirty, as if she had been dragged out of a hole in the ground. Dried tear tracks stood out against the grime covering her face, the only spots semi-clean. From this distance he was unsure if it was dirt or dried blood that matted her hair on one side of her head. She stumbled up the gangplank, legs shaking. 

What had he done? Finan promised...he promised to set her free. Not this. Never this. 

Without a word, Master Sverri shoved her towards the front of the ship. There Finan could no longer see her. He was not sure if that was better or worse. 

"IT WOULD APPEAR YOU DOGS NEED A REMINDER OF YOUR PLACE!" Hakka shouted at them, pacing the middle of the ship. He pointed at Halig, a sadistic smile on his face. "Grab him."

Two of the other Danes, forcibly removed Halig from his shackle. Uhtred screamed, trying to fight the Danes but they only beat him back. Finan eventually grabbed Uhtred, holding him firmly while he screamed to let Halig go, begging to take Halig's place. Those screams fell on deaf ears, only increasing the taunts and laughter from the Danes dragging Halig away.

"TIE HIM TO THE BOW, LET THE SEA KILL HIM!" Hakka cried out, watching the two Danes drag the injured slave towards the front of the ship. "LET THIS BE A LESSON TO YOU ALL!" 

"NO!!!" Uhtred wailed. His words and screams almost unintelligible as they weaved together into an almost animalistic cry. His body shook violently, nails digging into Finan's arms, the only things keeping him rooted to his spot. 

Glancing up above, Finan could see Master Sverri watching Uhtred with a smirk. He suddenly remembered when him and the other slaves were beaten after their failed escape...all but Halig. Master Sverri had said his punishment would come later...the bastard had been planning this. 

Somehow, Finan promised himself, he would kill that devil.

Right now, he just held a trembling Uhtred. He could feel his own anger and horror rising but he suppressed them. The care Uhtred had given his friend was obvious and this...Finan worried it would break him even more than the oars and the beatings. Being forced to listen to his friend's cries as the sea slowly drown him, it was enough to destroy any sane man. 

Then the order came to start rowing. 

"Uhtred, ya must." Finan whispered, when his friend refused to move. "That bastard is watchin' and I don't think he means to kill ya. He'd have done so."

"Halig…" He whimpered.

"He's a dead man walkin'. There's nothin' we can do for him now." 

The Irishman tried to console but noticed his own hands were shaking. How do you prepare yourself to listen to the slow death of a friend? You cannot. He wondered if this moment would haunt the rest of his life. 

As if in a daze, Uhtred slowly moved back into his seat and grasped the oar. His silent sobs made his shoulder quiver. 

Not even a few minutes later, Master Sverri came over to crouch above Uhtred. "The only reason you are not dead is because I am curious as to who you are."

"PULL!" 

"PULL!"

"PULL AND GIVE HIM THE PEACE OF DEATH!" 

It was once the distant sounds of Halig's cries finally faded that Master Sverri walked away. 

Watching everything as he pulled his own oar, Finan wondered if it would be the oar and seas that killed him and Uhtred or their despair. His ears felt as if they were bleeding while hearing Halig slowly die. Yet it was the following silence that was even worse. Tears slipped down his own cheeks, catching in his beard. What life was this to continue living? 

A sharp, distinctly feminine cry from the front reminded him that Aine was still aboard. 

Rage filled him, overpowering his despair. It strengthened his body, sharpening his mind. He could not give in to death now. Quickly, he wiped away the tears with the back of his hand. The despair and pain he shoved into the furthest recesses of his mind. Somehow, he had a promise to fulfill. To save a life and take another. 

"Do not give up yet." He said aloud, both for himself and Uhtred. "Do not give up."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it to the rescue!!! There is some graphic violence and a potentially disturbing image but again, if you can watch the show, you'll be fine. 
> 
> All translations are via google and there are lots of them this chapter. Our "couple" actually gets to talk!! Yay!
> 
> Reminder there will be an epilogue after this. I'm hoping to have it posted this weekend.

The arduous trek from the ship to the slavers' tents above the beach seemed to sap all the energy out of Finan. Certainly, it could not be enough for the beaten, starved slaves to carry their own bodyweight. Oh no, they were forced to carry pelts for trade. Their captors walked alongside the line of chained slaves to _encourage_ cooperation. 

In front of him, Uhtred stumbled in the sand, his pack of pelts slipping to the sandy ground. Landing on his knees, he stayed down. Just staring at the ground, his shoulders hunched over, head bowed. He looked like a man who had forgotten the sweet taste of freedom. Bound and chained was all he knew, all he expected in his life. So very different from the man who first boarded the slave ship last year. 

Immediately, Finan dropped to his side, tugging on his arm. "Get up, ya have to. That's it, get up."

"Move it, slaves!" One of the Danes screamed, quickly approaching from further down the line.

Uhtred staggered to his feet with a grunt, eyes unfocused. Without a word, he picked up his pack of pelts and continued onward up the hill. 

Readjusting the pack on his own back, Finan looked up to see how much further they must go. The sandy ground made walking laborious with the added weight of the pelts. He hoped they received a respite once they reached the top. Though the cynical part of him doubted it. These Danes cared nothing for their slaves, working them until they were skin-covered bones and one foot in the grave. 

At the top of the hill, Finan could see Master Sverri standing there surveying. Next to him cowered Aine. 

A jerk on the chains pulled Finan back from his staring. He followed the procession of slaves, keeping one eye on the unsteady ground and another on her. Since leaving Islond, he laid eyes on her only one other time. She had been marched from the back of the ship to the front and then later marched back. He guessed they were keeping her in the protected compartment where they stored the trading goods. Hopefully it would keep her from the worst of the sea. 

When they reached the top, Finan met her eyes for as long as he could. She stared back with terrified eyes until Master Sverri shoved her to the side and she toppled, due to the chains around her ankles tripping her. 

Without a conscious decision, he took a step as if to help her but the shackle around his ankle prevented him, along with the jeers of the Danes. So he kept moving; eventually to stand under a tent, free of the pelts but still bound. One of the other slaves wondered out loud if they would be fed and watered but another slave scoffed. Finan kept silent. 

Rubbing his hands together to create warmth, he kept an eye on Uhtred, standing just in front of him. He knew what was wrong, why Uhtred had become a shell of himself, even more since they climbed out of the ship. He had seen it himself. Halig’s body. Still strapped to the front of the ship. The sight of it caused bile to rise in Finan’s throat. The body had been defiled by the waves and curious creatures in the water. Ropes still wrapped around the ankles and wrists, holding him prisoner. Even in death. 

Shifting his gaze, Finan looked across, trying to locate Aine once again. He worried what it meant for her to be here. Was Master Sverri planning on selling her? Leaving her here? Or would she continue to travel with them as his own personal slave while on the ship? Thoughts of her fate filled him with both dread and rage. He promised to keep her safe, to free her. He could not do that if she was sold to another. 

To his surprise, Master Sverri walked towards the group of slaves, followed by a Dane with a black eye patch and a few others in their wake. 

What transpired next was something out of a fever dream surely. 

The Dane with the eyepatch tried to goad Uhtred into fighting him. By the way that Master Sverri and the other Danes treated him, this one-eyed Dane was someone of importance. The man had a sword tossed at Uhtred’s feet, pulling his sword out casually. 

"He's too weak." Finan said, begging for this not to happen. Hoping there would be mercy. Hoping Uhtred would not take the bait, that he would stay submissive for once. He could see Uhtred's arms and legs quivering from fatigue and weakness. After all they had been through, after all they endured, he could not bear to watch Uhtred die. Especially by this pompous arse. This could not be his end. 

It did not matter. The fool still picked up the sword and threatened the one-eyed man, showing more life in that moment than he had since Halig was taken. "I will kill you."

"Uhtred, I am pleased you will _try_."

Finan thought he would witness his friend, his newfound brother in all but blood, be decapitated. Fallen to his knees before the one-eyed man, Uhtred just watched as the one-eyed man drew back his sword. Finan covered his mouth with his hand, willing himself not to cry out. He closed his eyes, unable to watch what would surely happen. Death. Uhtred's death. At least it would be swift. Yet he could not witness this. He refused to. 

Just when the sword was to be swung...horses burst over the ridge and charged the Danes. 

He stood frozen in shock. Saxons, a woman and a large blond Dane rode through the slavers and those that came with the one-eyed man, killing them without hesitation. The Danes ran haphazardly, none fighting back but moving like rats escaping a sinking ship. Shouts and battle cries replaced the sounds of the crashing waves and seagulls. 

It was chaos. It was mayhem. It was a slaughter. 

None of the slaves moved, none dared believed what they saw before their eyes. Was this freedom or new masters? What would become of them? Their shock and chains kept them stationary. 

The large, blond Dane approached Uhtred, claiming to be a name named Ragnar. At hearing Uhtred's broken voice, his silent plea in just the utterance of his name, Finan felt tears come to his eyes. 

"Free them all." 

Finan looked around as he felt one of the Saxon soldiers hammering away at the chain with a sword. He stepped out of his shackle, an almost euphoric feel. He was free. They were free. No more rowing. No more chains. No more beatings. 

Finally free…

With that thought, he started scanning around for the one he promised freedom too. He had seen her last when Master Sverri tripped her. Where would the bastard have taken her? Finan took a step forward, his gaze searching everywhere. She had to be here still. She must be. 

Movement on the far side of the tents, drew his eye. Master Sverri stumbled, a hand pressed to his ribs...and at his side, he forced Aine to walk, pulling on the rope wrapped around her wrists. She followed slowly, looking over her shoulder continuously as the other slaves were being freed. She stopped at one point, eyes wide and mouth parted. The stilted movement caught Master Sverri off guard. He yanked on the rope but when Aine refused to move, digging her feet into the ground. He grabbed her forearm roughly and pulled, forcing her compliance. 

The Irishman knew what he had to do. What he wanted to do. What he had dreamt about for almost two years...and now no one would stop him. 

Without looking away from his target, he snatched the sword lying next to Uhtred and stalked over. His legs threatened to buckle under him due to the weight of the sword. A familiar feel, a sword in hand. A piece of him clicked back into place as his fingers curled around the handle. A warrior. He was a warrior once again. 

"Finan…" Aine mouthed his name like a prayer as he drew closer, never taking her gaze off him. Her brown hair hung limply in its usual braid down her back. Her dress was torn and dirty.

It was as he came closer, the simmering rage under his skin rose into an inferno. Closer now he could see the bloodied lip on her dirty face, the bruises on her cheek and wrists, and the haunting, dark circles under her eyes. Yet it was the way she watched him approach, not out of fear even though his intent was evident, a sword in hand and flames in his eyes. Hope and awe gleamed in her bronze eyes. She watched him as if he were a conquering hero from childhood stories. Which could not be further from the truth. 

A snarl grew on his face as he surveyed her pain. Not directed at her, no, never at her...but at the one who inflicted it. 

Master Sverri turned around, hearing his staggering approach. His gaze met Finan's and hardened. "What, slave? Come to kill me? Come to take the bitch?" Angrily he threw down the end of the rope and shoved her away, making her stumble. "Take her. She's useless anyway. Take her and go!"

"Aye, but first ya must do somethin'."

"What?" He sneered, hand still pressed to the wound on his side.

With that, Finan thrust the blade through the slaver's throat. His blue eyes bulged and blood seeped into his mouth, painting it red at the intrusion. "Pull." He commanded then withdrew the blade. It slipped out, covered in red, an offering of the bastard's life force. Finan watched the man whom he swore to kill, fall over dead. His blood staining the sand below. 

Finan stood there for a long moment, staring down at the crumpled form of the bastard. It was over. He should feel relieved, elated, avenged. Right now though, he just felt exhausted. His hand shook with the weight of the sword still hanging from it. His body felt on the verge of collapsing from the adrenaline coursing through him. It was the sound of a shaky breath that reminded him he was not alone. 

Looking up, he met Aine's wide eyes. Both stared at each other in unbelief. 

“Rinne tú é. Shaoradh tú mé.” She whispered, bottom lip quivering. Slowly, as if her feet were unsteady, she stepped closer to him, eyes still holding his. _(You did it. You freed me.)_

Suddenly remembering the rope binding her wrists, he dropped the sword in a rush. Reaching forward, fingers fumbling, he untied the rope then watched it fall. That sight, even more so than the dead body near them, gave him pause. She was free...and that bastard could never touch her again. He fulfilled his promise. 

Gently, almost hesitantly she touched the tips of her fingers against his cheek, bringing his attention back to her. His eyes closed briefly unconsciously at the soft touch. So long he longed for her gentle touch, to save and protect her. Now it was done. They were free. He opened his eyes to see fresh tears escaping from both her eyes. Carefully he cupped her cheek, using his thumb to wipe away the tear and grime on her fair skin. 

A quiet sob broke from her lips. “Rinne tú é, Finan.” _(You did it, Finan.)_

As if drawn together, they collapsed in the sand, arms around one another. Tears streamed down both of their faces unhindered. Neither paid attention to those looking on. Their captors were dead. Blood still coated the sword used to kill the man they both loathed. Years of pain, torment and despair was released as they clung onto one another, their tears cleansing more than just their faces. 

“Táimid saor, a stór, táimid saor in aisce.” He whispered repeatedly into her hair, unsure if it was reassurance for himself or for her. It all felt like a dream. Yet as she just held onto him tighter, her face buried in his chest, he knew it was no dream. _(We are free, my treasure, we are free.)_

They were free.

*****

The fire crackled before her, providing warmth and light against the darkness of night. Aine stared at the flames dancing. For the first time in years, her stomach was pleasantly full and warmth hugged her like a long-lost friend. 

The others around the fire conversed, particularly the Dane- Ragnar. He spoke to Finan's friend, Uhtred, about what was occurring in the different kingdoms. 

Aine only half paid attention. None of it interested her truthfully. The places and people mentioned meant nothing to her. The words flowed around her carelessly, her main interest was the flames and sensation of being warm and fed. 

Anxiety rose in her chest as she peeked at strangers around the fire. She tightened the blanket around her shoulders, more for the self-comfort than the needed warmth. The action drew the eye of the man to her side. Finan tenderly reached over and slipped his fingers between hers. She squeezed back, surprising herself when she leaned over and placed her head on his shoulder. They had only held hands in the past, pressed their foreheads against the slats, pretending to touch one another. Now that they could actually touch, actually hug and be close, she found herself unable to be far from his side. She also trusted him completely. His presence was a solace she desperately needed, especially amongst all the new strangers. Her mind preyed on her fears that she would be alone, discarded eventually. Yet with him by her side and his promise repeated in an endless loop in her mind, she fought back the fears. 

Finan broke the uncomfortable silence that descended over the small camp. "So, ya Uhtred's brother...ya look nothin' like each other."

Aine smiled while the others laughed. 

"Eat." The fighting nun said, trying to pass the extra food to the ex-slaves. Uhtred silently declined, bringing a frown to her kind face but she relented. Next, she held out the bowl towards Finan and Aine. 

Finan peeked at Aine, giving her hand a brief squeeze to get her attention. When she gave a small shake of her head against him, he looked at the nun. "Our tongues are small and our feet have barely touched dry land...it'll take a little while."

That seemed to satisfy the nun. She smiled at them and set the bowl back down, no longer pressing the issue.

"And you," Ragnar pointedly looked at Aine. "How did you come to be here?"

Stiffening as he seemed to examine her, she hesitated. How could she explain? Would they reject her if they knew? Everything she had been through, the thought of laying it out in front of all these strangers made her mouth dry and throat close up. All she wanted to do was forget it all. 

When Uhtred spoke, it surprised everyone. His voice was rough from disuse and crying earlier. "She gave us food and blankets. She kept us alive."

Ragnar nodded, eyes softening as he looked from Uhtred back to her. "Mmm...for that you have my thanks."

Finan pressed his cheek to the top of her head, drawing a small smile from her. The group sat quietly for a time, the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of the waves embracing the silence. 

"The night is late. We need to rest." The nun said, standing up and dusting off her dress. She looked down at Aine. "Would you prefer to stay near me or…" Her gaze flickered to Finan and back. 

"Cad ab fhearr leat?" He whispered, giving her the choice. _(What would you prefer?)_

Although it was not much of a choice, her answer obvious to her. "Ba mhaith liom fanacht leat. Tá muinín agam asat ... níl aithne agam orthu." _(I want to stay with you. I trust you… I don't know them.)_

Finan looked up at the nun. "She'll stay with me, if ya don't mind. I made a promise to keep her safe and I mean to keep it."

The nun smiled. "Very good."

They all settled for the night, each finding their own spot in the grassy plain above the beach. Several fires burned around them, for the warriors and other ex-slaves still lingering about. A few slaves had scattered already but most seemed to be in a state of shock at the change of fate. 

Aine laid on the grass, staring up at the stars. She snuggled further into the blanket wrapped around her. After all the events of the day, she assumed she would be exhausted and drift to sleep immediately; but found sleep eluded her. The nearby sounds of snores, shuffling, and a few of the warriors talking quietly as they kept guard surrounded her. The ocean waves crashed down on the beach and the call of seagulls could still be heard. She blinked slowly, watching the stars twinkle above. 

"Caithfidh tú dul a chodladh." _(You need to go to sleep._ )

She smiled at Finan's sleepy comment, thinking he had dozed off some time ago. He lay to her right, able to feel his body heat even through her blanket. Initially, he had tried to put some appropriate distance between them but she did not care. After everything they endured, she needed him close. She startled a bark of laughter from him as she rolled over, placing her head against his shoulder. He just pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head and settled back, hugging his own blanket to him. 

"Na réaltaí ... is cosúil go bhfuil siad níos gile." _(The stars...they seem brighter.)_

"Aye?" He yawned, turning to his side to face her. Carefully, he reached over and held her hand. "Téigh a chodladh, Aine. Ní aisling é. Nuair a dhúisímid, beidh muid saor fós." ( _Go to sleep, Aine. It's not a dream. When we wake, we'll still be free.)_

She squeezed his hand and rolled over to face him fully. Watching him, she brought their joined hands towards her face, rubbing the back of his hand on her cheek. Was that why she could not sleep? For fear that when she woke, she would be back in Islond or on the ship? That this would all only be a beautiful dream to torment her. Or when she awoke, she would be all alone? But this was real though. The feeling of his calloused hand in hers, the rough and chapped skin against her cheek. The grass beneath her and the stars above. This was real. Plus she knew, in the depths of her soul, he would not abandon her. He promised. She would not be alone. Without a second thought, she kissed the back of his hand, tasting the lingering salt from the sea on him. 

"Ní féidir liom a rá leat cé chomh minic a smaoinigh mé ort. Conas a mhothódh sé tú a shealbhú, teagmháil a dhéanamh leat, tú a fheiceáil ag gáire agus ag gáire." He ran his thumb over her lips, eyes locked on the movement as he confessed his secret. _(I cannot tell you how often I thought about you. How it would feel to hold you, to touch you, to see you smile and laugh.)_

"Tá mé anseo ... agus táimid saor." _(I am here...and we are free.)_

"Sea, scíth anois.” He tugged her closer to wrap an arm around her waist and guide her head to his chest. "Cosnóidh mé tú." _(Yes, now rest. // I'll protect you.)_

*****

"Are you Finan's woman?"

Aine startled at the question, looking over her shoulder at the fighting nun- Hild, she said her name was.

She paid no mind to the sudden tension hovering over Aine as she continued her train of thought. "He seems a good man. Clearly he cares for you...and you him."

"I... I am not sure."

Silence settled between them as Hild continued to brush Aine's long hair, trying somewhat successfully to get the knots and tangles out. 

When Aine woke up that morning, still cuddled in Finan's arms, tears filled her eyes. This was not a dream. It was all still real. She was still free. Finan was safe and free. She pressed her head back to his chest, wanting to linger in the peaceful moment. The feel of his chest rising and falling with each breath, his heartbeat under her cheek, the warmth from the blanket and Finan still swaddling her. It was the most peace she had found in years. 

A soft growl of her stomach brought her back to reality. Carefully, she slipped out of his embrace, hoping he would sleep as long as he could. Most of the camp was awake at this point, the sun showed it was mid-morning. Hild found Aine before she could even begin looking for her. After eating, they searched for new clothes for herself and the ex-slaves still around. Aine found herself enjoying Hild, the peaceful presence of this woman was something Aine did not know she craved until she found herself dwelling in it. For so long she had lived in constant fear and anxiety. Around the men, Aine still found herself lowering her head, refusing to meet their eyes. 

Hild brought Aine to a small nearby lake where Aine was able to cleanse the grime, dried blood and saltwater from her body and hair. It felt completely divine. The cold water caused goosebumps to appear on her skin. She wished she could wallow in the water. To have it cleanse her body and her soul... but Hild reminded her the men might want a turn cleaning themselves also. That was enough to get her out of the water and into her new, dry clothes. 

Now they sat under a large tree, just within sight of the camp but far enough away to have a guise of privacy. Aine picked at the dark blue kirtle they managed to find for her in one of the slaver's tents. She also wore a white shift underneath the kirtle and Hild magically found a thin belt to wrap around her waist. With the new clothes, clean skin and body, and her hair being brushed out, Aine felt a renewal bubbling within her. No longer did she feel like a freed slave. She was a woman again. The feeling of her brown hair, hanging softly down her back, a brush sweeping through the locks, the dress covering her completely, it all felt so normal. Though she knew it would take time before she felt like Aine before her time as a slave...if she ever was that person again. For now though, she tried to enjoy the rejuvenation as she soaked in the sun.

"What will you do now? Will you join us or do you wish to return home?" Hild asked, interrupting her thoughts. 

Aine opened her mouth but no words came out. What was to be done with her? What did she want now? Questions she had been denied to even think for years felt like they clogged her throat. She had to make a choice. Would they even want her to stay? 

Hild must have sensed her fear and confusion for she kindly tapped her shoulder before she rose. "You do not need an answer now. Just think on it. Wessex is a good place to call home. If you do not wish to travel with us. I know of a nunnery nearby you could stay until you decide."

Aine nodded. Thankful Hild did not press for an immediate answer. 

"Tell me about...Wessex." She hesitantly said. 

So Hild spoke of Wessex and King Alfred as they walked back to camp. Aine was surprised to see Finan sitting around a low fire, talking and eating with Ragnar and the scary Saxon warrior- Steapa. As the two women approached, all eyes turned to them. It was the pair of warm, brown ones that Aine focused on. When they noticed her, they widened almost comically, never leaving her own. 

"Uhtred still sleeping?" Hild asked, moving towards her pack. 

"Aye." Ragnar answered. 

Hild hummed then turned to the Irishman. "Finan, we have found some new clothes for you and I can trim your hair if you would like."

"I'll do it." Aine blurted out loudly, immediately regretting it but unable to retrieve the words from the air. The others glanced at her, Hild raising a single eyebrow. Aine fiddled with her dress, ignoring their looks, as she coughed then spoke up again. "I... I’ll trim it...um, his hair."

"Aye...aye, that be kind, thank ya." He jumped to his feet as he answered, his gaze only flitting to Hild before returning to Aine. 

Hild handed Aine her scissors, a small smile on her face and a seemingly knowing look. "When you're finished, I'll take those and find Uhtred. Take your time though."

A blush warmed Aine's cheeks but she tried to ignore it as she started walking back to the spot her and Hild had just been. Finan followed on her side, frequently stealing glances at her making her blush grow. 

"Cad?" She finally asked. _(What?)_

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Feiceann tú.... álainn." _(You look...beautiful.)_

"Tá sé na héadaí." _(It's the clothes._ )

"Níl ... is tú féin é." He winked at her when she glanced his way. _(No...it is you.)_

Aine bit her bottom lip, casting her gaze downward. Butterflies erupted in her belly. She was unsure why this interaction felt different. More potent. More intimate. She had slept in his arms last night...but this felt different. 

He sat down where she indicated on the patchy grass. Kneeling behind him, she started to cut his long, unkempt hair. With each snip, each strand of hair falling to the ground, his shoulders seemed to straighten slightly as if a physical weight was being lifted. When she was almost done, his hair cut close to his head, she voiced the very question Hild asked her. Needing to know his answer. Desperate for it. 

"Ar shocraigh tú cad a dhéanfaidh tú ... nuair a fhágfaidh siad?" _(Have you decided what you will do...when they leave?)_

"Ceapaim…" He sighed, rubbing a hand over his scraggly beard. "Ní féidir liom dul ar ais go hÉirinn. Níl aon rud ann domsa, ní tar éis ..." _(I think… // I cannot go back to Irland. There is nothing for me there, not after…)_

She watched him clench his fists as if cutting off his words physically. They had never talked about the depths of their pasts, what brought them to slavery. Topics neither one wanted to remember. So, hearing he could not return to Irland shocked her. 

"An bhfanfaidh tú ansin? Taisteal leo?" _(Will you stay then? Travel with them?)_

"Uhtred ... is deartháir dom anois é. Is cosúil gur fir mhaith iad na daoine eile ... agus an bhean atá ag troid." He grinned then looked over his shoulder at her. "Agus tú? Cad a dhéanfaidh tú?" _(Uhtred...he is a brother to me now. The others seem like good men...and the fighting woman. // And you? What will you do?)_

What would she do?

She moved to kneel in front of him, starting to trim at his beard. His eyes pierced as he watched her, waiting for her answer. She knew what she wanted to do, where she wanted to be...but could that be her future? It felt like a lump in her throat, refusing to dislodge. 

"Mo bhaile ... rinne na Danair ionsaí ar mo shráidbhaile. Maraíodh gach duine ach ... ach an cúpla duine againn tógtha mar sclábhaithe. Níl aon rud ann domsa ach an oiread." She confessed, tears pricking her eyes at the memory. Something she had shoved so far back in her memories she hoped it would never see the light of day. The screams of her sisters, blood coating the filthy hands that held her down, fire reaching into the sky as it devoured her home, the maniacal laughter of the Danes...death...death everywhere she looked. _(My home...my village was attacked by the Danes. Everyone was slaughtered but...but the few of us taken as slaves. There is nothing for me there either.)_

She did not realize her hands had started to shake with the memory until Finan clasped them between his, rubbing his thumbs along her skin. She tried to focus on his touch, the calluses on his hands, the warmth they provided, the strength in them. Anything but what she witnessed, of what had so violently been destroyed. 

"Tá brón orm, Aine." _(I am sorry, Aine.)_

His words jolted her back to her senses. Swiftly, she slipped her hands from his, running them over her cheeks and eyes even though no tears had fallen. Without a word, she continued trimming his beard, bringing it to his jawline. He watched as if studying her, trying to read the secrets that lay in her eyes. Biting her bottom lip, she focused on the task at hand, refusing to meet his eyes. Though staying focused became difficult as an incredibly attractive man began to take form under her hands. Once done, her hand rubbed along his jawline, tracing it. Not just for stray hairs but to touch him once again. 

To her surprise, his hand cupped hers on the side of his face, holding it there. "Fan liom, a stór." _(Stay with me, my treasure.)_

She stared at him in shock. 

"Fan liom. Coinneoidh mé slán tú. Níl a fhios agam cad atá os ár gcomhair ach déanfaidh mé gach rud chun a chinntiú go dtugtar aire duit ... agus sásta ... ach fan." His words seemed to tumble out of his mouth, desperate to fill the air between them. _(Stay with me. I'll keep you safe. I do not know what lies before us but I'll do everything to make sure you are taken care of...and happy...just stay.)_

She stroked his cheek, thinking on his words. Could this be her future? This man before her, who befriended her through slats and slavery, who once again gave her a reason to laugh, who became as important to her as the breath in her lungs. Was this her fate? She finally spoke, hesitantly. "Agus má dhéanaim ... cad a bheidh mé?" _(And if I do...what will I be?)_

His brows furrowed. "Cad atá i gceist agat? Tá tú saor." _(What do you mean? You are free.)_

"Níl ..." She glanced down, scared to meet his eyes but when his thumb skimmed her lips, her eyes returned to his. "An mise do bhean?" _(No… // Will I be your woman?)_

His eyes widened momentarily and he sucked in a sharp breath. Before she could retract her hand, waiting for his rejection, he kept it firmly against his cheek. "Ar mhaith leat é sin? An é sin a theastaíonn uait?" _(Would you like that? Is that what you want?)_

"Sea." She whispered. _(Yes.)_

_"_ Sea?” A grin spread over his face. "An bhfuil tú cinnte?" _(Yes? // Are you sure?)_

"Thug tú ar ais an saol dom ... shábháil tú mé. Is mian liom a bheith le do thaobh." _(You brought me back to life...you saved me. I wish to be by your side.)_

He cupped the back of her head, bringing their foreheads together. "Aine, a ghrá, níl tuillte agam duit." _(Aine, my love, I do not deserve you.)_

"Tá tú agam ar aon bhealach, más mian leat mé." _(You have me either way, if you want me.)_

"I gcónaí, riamh ó thug tú orm gáire a dhéanamh sa pheann, ag insint dom conas a mhallaigh mé agus sin mar a bhí a fhios agat gur Éireannach mé. Sin nuair a bhí a fhios agam ... theastaigh uaim leat mé." _(Always, ever since you made me laugh in the pen, telling me how I cursed and that's how you knew I was Irish. That's when I knew...I wanted you with me.)_

Aine huffed a laugh. "Ní raibh ansin ach an dara huair a thug mé cuairt ort." _(That was only the second time I visited you.)_

"Is cuma. Ba tú mo dhóchas agus mo shlánaithe..." He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip _._ "... Ba mhaith liom tú a phógadh anois." _(Does not matter. You were my hope and my salvation… // ...I would like to kiss you now.)_

"Le do thoil…" _(Please…)_

He tipped his head, slanting his lips over hers. Even though they were wind-burnt and chapped, tasting of salt and the stew he had been eating, Aine thought she had never tasted anything better. His hands held her face so delicately, his lips touched her with such reverence like she was a treasured prize. Never before had someone touched her with such care, such adoration. It was addicting. They broke apart after a moment. A short and sweet kiss that brought giddy smiles to both of their faces. 

"Mo bhean ... mo ghrá ..." He murmured, carding his fingers through her hair. His eyes alight with devotion and a lazy smirk on his lips. _(My woman…my love…)_

She beamed, warmth streaming from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. For a moment she wondered if this was a dream. The two of them sitting there in the sun, faces still so close, one hand on his cheek and the other on his chest, his hands in her hair. Her lips still tingled with the taste of his kiss. Here was someone who wanted her, cared for her, protected her. She would not be alone. 

“An aisling é seo?” _(Is this a dream?)_

He chuckled, nuzzling her as he pulled her closer. “Más ea, níor mhaith liom múscailt.” _(If it is, I do not wish to wake.)_

It had to be impossible for her heart to flood even more with affection for him...but somehow it did. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and pressed their lips together. This kiss lasted longer than their first and ended with her mostly in his lap, hands in each other's hair and both breathless. Their chests rose and fell heavily as they beheld one another. The air around them thick with unspoken promises and declarations in the morning sunlight. Both of their lips swollen and red from the sudden passion, hair slightly messy now but neither cared. So much pain and torment had led to this moment...this moment of perfection. 

Finan raised his eyebrows, mischievous gleam peeking past the dilated pupils. "Ó? An é seo an rud a chaithfidh mé dul i dtaithí air? An bhfuil tú ag goid póga uaim?" _(Oh? Is this something I'll have to get used to? You stealing kisses from me?)_

"Mmm ... tá amhras mór orm go dtroidfidh tú an iomarca ar ais ach más fearr leat pógfaidh mé duine eile ..." _(Mmm...I highly doubt you'll fight back too much but if you prefer I kiss someone else…)_

He slammed his mouth against hers, cutting off her words. She giggled through the kiss but returned it with equal ardor. When he finally released her, his lips hovered over hers possessively. "Riamh." _(Never.)_

"Go maith."She wiggled out of his lap, even as he tried to pull her back down. She stood up and faced him, pointing a finger at him. "Má aimsím tú ag pógadh duine éigin eile, gearrfaidh mé do choileach as." ( _Good_. // _If I find you kissing someone else, I'll cut your cock off.)_

He stared at her dumbly for a second then threw his head back laughing uproariously, something she had never seen him do before now. She decided the sound might be her new favorite thing and she hoped to hear it every day in the future.

"Bhí a fhios agam go raibh tine ionat." He teased, rising to his feet. ( _I knew there was a fire in you.)_

She shrugged. "Tá Gaeilge agam." _(I'm Irish.)_

"Go bhfuil tú ... mo Ghrá." He stepped closer. Pressing his forehead to hers, he entwined their fingers together. "Cuirimid tús lenár saol nua anois, le chéile." ( _"That you are...my Iove. // We start our new lives now, together.)_

  
"Le chéile." _(Together.)_


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, my friends! The final part! 
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who has read/ commented /given kudos....y'all are the best! 
> 
> Not much for warnings this part. Mostly fluff and some *cough* sexy times *cough*....oops?

"WOMEN OF COCCHAM! WE ARE BACK!!"

Aine smiled, shaking her head as she heard Finan's voice. Immediately, she followed the small parade of people making their way towards the dock to greet the Lord of Coccham and his warriors. She noticed her friend up ahead and headed over to stand next to Gisela, baby Stiorra in her arms. 

The Lady of Coccham (even if Aine only called her in good humor) smirked, bouncing her young daughter. "There goes our peace and quiet."

Aine laughed, watching the boat being tied to the dock and men jumping off. "I suppose it is a good thing we like them."

"Mmm...most days." Gisela commented dryly, before moving closer to both greet her husband and wrangle her toddler. 

The Irishwoman stayed back, observing the greetings and the breath of life that came with the men's return. They had been gone over a month this time, fighting rogue Danes on Wessex's border. However much she and Gisela teased one another about the men being gone, thanking the gods for a respite from them...Coccham did not feel like home until they returned. 

She nodded at the warriors who passed her, making their way into the village. Some were attacked by children leaping into their arms or family members looking them over for injuries. It warmed her heart to witness the scene before her. How this small village had become a home for the many who lived here, filled with laughter, love and hope. It was a place for both Dane and Saxon...something Wessex desperately needed...with a couple Irish thrown in to make it interesting. 

The first to approach her was Osferth, his boyish grin making her smile. "Welcome back."

"It's good to be back." He accepted her hug, only blushing slightly at the show of affection. It had taken a few months before he would not turn red as a tomato when she hugged him. He was a younger brother to her. Even though he would deny it with all the breath in his lungs, she knew he enjoyed the special treatment she gave him, always making sure he had extra food and taking care of his sewing. 

"Food is on the table in the Main Hall." She released him, looking over him quickly and relieved when she saw no injuries or dried blood. "Better hurry up before the others get there."

He did not need to be told twice. 

Sihtric found her next. Before she could stop him, he wrapped his arms around her waist and spun her around, making her squeal. "Aine!" He cried out. 

"Put me down, you crazy Dane!" She gripped his shoulders, terrified he was going to drop her. He set her down, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. Soon as she was on her feet and stable, she punched his shoulder. “What was that for?”

“Can I not be excited to see you?”

Smoothing down her red dress, she rolled her eyes but the fond smile gave away her true feelings. "Go on, food is on the table."

"You are a gift from the gods themselves!" He busted a loud kiss on her cheek, completely surprising her. 

"Oi! Sihtric! Hands off my woman!!" Finan yelled. He stood on the dock, arms crossed, having been talking to one of the village men who managed the small boats in Coccham. 

"She has chosen a new path and will be my woman now!" Sihtric wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "She said you smell like a pig more often than a man and cannot stand your stench any longer!"

She swatted at Sihtric's chest, unable to suppress her laughter both due to the Dane's complete shit-eating grin and Finan's aghast look. Part of her wondered if Sihtric was drunk since he was usually so reserved in front of the others. All she could figure was there some teasing going on that she did not know the full story of. Although she had no problems playing along. In all the times Finan was pulled away to help Uhtred with whatever King Alfred needed him for, Sihtric and Aine had no problems creating their own amusement with the mischief they caused. Of course, they never got caught since no one would expect it from the two of them. 

"Sihtric!" Uhtred called over, his arm around his own wife. "You have my approval, though that whore in Wintanceaster you are so fond of will be most upset to no longer receive your silver."

"Go on." Aine pressed a quick kiss to Sihtric's cheek, hearing Finan's shout in the background. "Osferth is already eating, I am sure."

As Uhtred and his little family walked towards her, she bowed her head slightly. "Welcome back, my lord."

He stepped over to give her a hug. His hugs were always so warm and all-encompassing. Just like everything Uhtred did, he did with his whole heart, including his hugs. "Thank you, Aine. It brings me joy to know you are here to watch over my family while I am gone."

"I consider Gisela a sister and your children as my own family."

Blue eyes flashing as he beamed at her. "That pleases me greatly."

She watched the little family head back towards the main hall for a lingering moment, happiness filling her at the sight of the love and family Uhtred now had. He was such a different man from when they first met. So much had changed over the years but most for the better. What had once been a broken man, now stood tall and strong. It brought her joy to witness. 

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her back against a broad chest. "And what of me?"

She opened her mouth to reply then almost gagged as her nostrils were assaulted. Pushing out of his embrace, she turned to examine Finan keeping him at arm's length. "Ya smell."

"Oh? No affection for me? Your beloved husband."

"I will once ya don't smell like shit…" She paused, eyeing him warily. "Why do ya smell like shit and no one else?"

He sighed, sending a glare towards the main hall. "Let's just say Sihtric's a right bastard, aye?"

She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep a neutral face. He looked so forlorn, she wanted to wrap him in an embrace but not with the foul stench radiating off him. “Ya need to wash before eatin'."

"But I'm hungry and tired." He whined, taking a step closer to her, hands reaching out to grab hold of her. 

She jumped back as he tried to move closer, batting his grabbing hands away. "Too bad. Go wash or Osferth will eat it all. Lord knows where that child packs all the food away. He eats like a horse."

"Mmm…" He placed his hands on her hips, a gleam in his eyes. "Not even a kiss for ya husband to welcome him home? To give me the strength to continue? Tis such a long walk back to the river, but with a kiss..."

She rolled her eyes at his dramatics. With a huff, she conceded, knowing he would be relentless if she did not give him some kind of affection. Rising onto her toes, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Now, go ba...ah!" Before she could settle back on her feet, he easily lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder. "Finan!" 

"Ya husband requires help, and it’s ya duty as a lovin', loyal wife to help in whatever I need."

“Is é sin do bharúil. Is féidir leat folctha a dhéanamh duit féin.” She pounded with her fist on his back, but he only laughed. _(That is what you think. You can bath yourself.)_

"Fíor. Náire áfach. Anois, is cosúil go mbraitheann tú boladh agus go dteastaíonn folctha uait freisin." He swatted her arse cheerfully, making her yelp. ( _True. Shame though. Now, it seems you smell and require a bath also.)_

She tried to wriggle away, only causing him to laugh and swat her arse again. Grumbling, she eventually gave up as he walked towards the secluded spot in the river reserved for bathing. She had no intentions of getting in the water. No matter what he said or did. 

*****

At the riverside, he gently set her down, grabbing her upper arms as she wobbled slightly. 

"I've no need a bath. Ya get in there. I'll stay with ya since I'm such a lovin' and loyal wife." She stepped away to plop down on grass nearby, smoothing her red dress down. Unconsciously, she ran her fingers through her long, brown hair that hung loosely down her back, staring at the river. 

Unable to remove his gaze from her, he watched, a contentment filling his soul at the simplicity of the moment. His woman… his beautiful wife waiting for him as he bathed so they could return to their home together. Though he would much prefer for her to join him. It had been years since they first met in Islond, yet he found her only becoming more beautiful with each passing year. 

Over that time, he had also fallen more in love with her as different facets of her appeared, now free of slavery. She had a quick wit and sarcastic streak he loved to witness. She was always going out of her way to help others, particularly the mothers and children in Coccham. In the quiet moments, there was usually some kind of knitting or sewing in her hands, saying it helped calm her mind. He knew she loved giving gifts though, seeing people's faces light up when she gave them something for no reason other than she wanted to. Behind the closed door of their home though, she was a temptress that he wholeheartedly would sell his soul to. With just a look or wink, she could drive him wild. Many a time he threatened to lock them in their cottage and not come out for three days if she continued to tease him so. 

The time he was forced to spend away from her side, fighting for Uhtred and King Alfred, killed him but it gave him another reason to fight better and harder. She waited in their home for his return...and there was nothing he would not do to keep her safe. He would move mountains for her. Even years later, the promise he gave still held as true now as then. He wanted her safe and happy.

"Are ya goin' get in the water or just stare at me?" She leaned back on her elbows, hair dancing around her as she watched him. 

A lazy smirk grew on his face as he slowly and carefully began removing his armor. He dropped each piece into a small pile next to his feet, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. She just watched, a small, coy smile on her lips. Next, he took his time taking his clothes off, unable to suppress his bodily response as he noticed her eyes roaming over his body greedily. There was no shame in his nakedness before her. Even the scars he loathed from his time as a slave, the whip marks and scars on his hands from the oar, he hardly noticed when alone with her. On more than one occasion, she kissed those hateful scars away, reminding him he survived and they only showed the strength within him. 

"Ya sure ya don't want to join me?" He teased once more, purposefully placing his hands on his hips. Where her eyes seemed to linger did not go unnoticed by him. If anything, it made him ache for her more. 

"Mmm...if we both get in that water, it'll be next year before we leave."

"I do not see a problem with that."

She laughed while giving him a shooing motion. 

Naked as the day he was born, he finally stepped into the water. The chill shot through his body but it felt pleasant, refreshing. Finally stopping at his waist, he submerged himself. Weeks’ worth of filth seeped into the water around him. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, cleaning the grime from it. For a long moment, he lingered there, allowing the absolute silence of the river around him to drown out the thoughts and noise from the past month of hard fighting. He returned home, everyone he cared for was safe. The worry and fear glided off his shoulders, dissipating into the water. He was home.

Rising, he shook his head like a dog, the water spraying around him. When he opened his eyes, he expected to see Aine still on the grass laughing at his antics and prepared to tease him. 

Instead she stood just out of arm's reach in the water. 

Naked. 

He smugly grinned, reaching his hands out towards her. "Could not resist me, huh?"

Rolling her eyes, she stepped closer, placing a hand over his heart. His hands automatically moved to her hips, pulling her closer. He opened his mouth to further tease her but caught the words on his tongue. Her eyes seemed distant as she stared at her hand on his chest, biting her bottom lip. 

"Cad é, mo grá?” He trailed a hand up and down her bare back, waiting for her to speak. He knew from experience it did no good to pressure her, so he continued to gaze at her, touch her and find happiness in her presence. _(What is it, my love?)_

After several tense moments she finally whispered, not meeting his eyes. "An bhfuil tú sásta anseo?" _(Are you happy here?)_

"Cad?" _(What?)_

"An bhfuil tú sásta anseo ... i Coccham? Le mise? An bhfuil tú sásta?" _(Are you happy here...in Coccham? With me? Are you happy?)_

"Cad a thug air seo?" He tipped her chin up to look into her face, looking into those bronze eyes he adored. _(What brought this on?)_

"Bhí mé ag smaoineamh ar Éirinn agus tú imithe." _(I was thinking about Irland while you were gone.)_

Ah. He waited for her, mixed feelings swirling within him. They had shared their pasts with one another about their lives in Irland before slavery. He had been so terrified to tell her of who he was there, what he had done. Yet instead of holding his past actions against him, she just kissed the tip of his nose and told him she would not be cleaning up his messes around their home, even if he was a prince. At that moment, he was unsure if he could ever love her more.

"Ar mhaith leat riamh dul ar ais?" She asked, looking across the river. Something she had never asked before, after hearing his story. _(Do you ever want to go back?)_

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck for a second. This was not an easy question to answer and he appreciated her silence, letting him find his answer. Cupping her cheek, he tilted her face back up to meet her eyes. "Tá áiteanna ann a chailleann mé ansin, aye. Beidh Éirinn i mo chuid fola i gcónaí ... ach ní hé mo theach é a thuilleadh. Tá m’áit anseo. Le Uhtred ... agus Sihtric ... agus an manach leanbh. Agus tusa. Níor mhaith liom riamh a bheith gan tú. " _(There are places I miss there, aye. Irland will always be in my blood...but it's no longer my home. My place is here. With Uhtred...and Sihtric...and the baby monk. And you. I never wish to be without you.)_

They pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed as they allowed the waves of memories from their past to crash over them for the briefest of minutes. The water from the river lapped against their bodies. The sunshine warmed their exposed skin. He ran a hand through her long hair, knowing she loved the sensation. They stayed that way for several minutes, just being with one another, no words needing to be spoken, born from familiarity and contentment. 

"Ar mhaith leat filleadh ar Éirinn?" He ventured. _(Do you want to return to Irland?)_

"Is tú mo bhaile. Sílim go raibh a fhios agam ar bhealach éigin nuair a chonaic mé tú i ndáiríre den chéad uair. Tháinig tú i mo dhóchas, i mo ancaire ... agus tá tú fós." _(You are my home. I think I somehow knew that when I first truly saw you. You became my hope, my anchor...and you still are.)_

When she smiled at him, he pressed his lips to hers, overwhelmed by her statement. Soon what meant to be a reassuring, tender kiss became more. Hands roamed. Tongues clashed. Bodies pressed so close, water could not even find a way between them. He scooped her up, making her giggle as her legs wrapped around his waist and his hands on her arse. A fire built within him, her touch scorching him but he did not care. If anything, he wanted more. Finally, their lips broke apart, both of them breathing heavy. He wasted no time as his mouth trailed kisses along her jawline and down her throat. 

"Finan…" She moaned, hands tangled in his hair. She tipped her head to the side so he had better access to her neck. "You are not humping me out here."

"Why?" He asked between kisses. "This seems like a perfect spot."

"Anyone could come by."

"No one will come by, now shhh...let me worship you." Dropping his head to her chest, he traced her collarbones with his tongue. The whine it elicited from her made him rock hard just at the sound. 

"No, oh Christ! Finan…"

He chuckled, his tongue trailing downward. Shifting her slightly so she was at the perfect height, he kissed the valley between her breasts. He groaned when she tugged on his hair. A soft mantra of his name spilled from her lips, one of his favorite sounds. He tucked his head down, ready to lavish affections onto her breasts until she begged him to fill her. He squeezed her arse, making her rise slightly at the sensation, timing it so he opened his mouth and just about….

"FINAN! AINE! Lord Uhtred needs you both at...AAAHHHH!!" 

"DAMN IT, BABY MONK!!"

Aine laughed loudly as she pressed a quick kiss to Finan's cheek. Then slippery as an eel, she slid out of his arms and swatted away his hands, desperate to pull her back. "We are coming, Osferth, thank you." She called out, taking a step towards the bank. 

"No, we are not!" Finan yelled, knowing that Osferth was most likely racing back, red-faced and stuttering. "Tell Uhtred we are busy and…"

She interrupted his outburst by splashing him as he tried to snake an arm around her waist. "Finan, your lord needs you. You cannot say no."

"I am certain he would understand why." He grumbled, pulling her against his body. He began peppering her shoulder with kisses as his hands went to where his lips should have been right now. 

"Níos déanaí, mo ghrá ..." She batted his hands away, slipping from him once more. _(Later, my love…)_

His eyes narrowed as he stalked closer, matching her retreating steps. That same hot blood still coursed through her veins as his own if her rosy cheeks and pupils that resembled full moons said anything. Though, as they moved closer to the bank, the water's height lessened around their bodies. The view it gave him was something he certainly did not mind. She was glorious in her nakedness, completely unashamed before him. He wondered if she would allow a quick romp in the grass...to help them dry off, of course. 

Somehow reading his mind, she stopped and pressed a single finger to his lips as they almost reached the bank. "If you behave, we can play a game."

"A game? Like what?"

Her finger trailed down his lips, down his chest and stomach to his manhood, giving it a quick pump that caused him to groan aloud. "Guess you will have to be good to find out." She released him with a flirtatious wink and stepped out of the water. 

"Woman! You cannot tease me like this!"

She blew him a kiss, wringing out her brown locks and giggling. 

He just stood there admiring her. Through all the shite he had lived through and pain he endured, she was the treasure at the end of the rainbow. He thanked God daily for bringing her into his life. Even after meeting her in Islond, she continued to save him, be his peace, his support and his joy. He loved her. There was no question about that. There was no one else he wanted by his side, in his bed or holding his heart. She meant everything to him. But the part that still astounded him daily; he knew she reciprocated those same feelings and sentiments. 

Who would have guessed that the worst time in his life, he would also find his salvation...the love of his life.


End file.
